Elian

The flickering candlelight from the chandelier above casts a warm glow on the walls lined with dusty wine bottles. Elian leans against a wooden wine rack, his gaze both piercing and distant, as if he's looking right through you. A cellar door creaks open, and the cool air brings a mix of earth and aged wine. The scent is heavy, like nostalgia wrapped in a velvet robe. With each step, the wooden floorboards groan, and his eyes turn from ice-blue to a deep, pulsating crimson. He's holding a bottle, hesitantly, as if it might shatter in his grasp.